Harvest: Part Two

by Alicia McKenzie

The gym was empty. Not entirely surprising; it was just before five hundred hours, after all, and Nikolas had quite deliberately chosen this time so that he would not have any 'company'. Few of the others were early risers, and those that were would hopefully still be lingering over their coffee.

He was an early riser, himself. This was nothing out of the ordinary for him, save for the fact that he had not precisely--slept last night. Perhaps there had been a few brief stretches of unconsciousness in those long, dark hours somewhere, but the waking memories had been just as vivid as the dreams, and he'd been unable to tell the difference. Tatjiana had been in all of them. Laughing, somber, scolding, encouraging--

Loving--leaving--

He hesitated for a moment, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, willing the images away, if only for a while. He needed the respite. His control was frayed and cracked in a thousand places this morning, as fragile as blown glass.

Resolutely ignoring the pounding headache that was thankfully all that remained of the hangover he'd been--enjoying last night, he strode purposely over to the high bar. He reminded himself to take a few minutes and stretch first. There was a certain comfort in going through the motions.

Going through the motions. Nothing too different--something old, truthfully, rather than something new. He'd never completely given up on his gymnastics. It was an excellent way to stay fit, and there was something in him that had stubbornly refused to let that part of his life go for good, though he was nowhere near as proficient as he had been in his youth, and would not have been, even if he'd spent all day every day training. These days, he rarely did anything more complex than a little tumbling.

He would make an exception, this morning. Slowly, at first, then more confidently, he began the high bar routine he hadn't tried in years, the routine that he would have performed at the Olympics, if his intentions to defect had never been discovered. His balance was not quite as good as it had been, his reflexes not quite as sharp, but determination and persistence could compensate, at least to an extent.

Fumbling one release move, he caught himself smoothly, and began to build up speed again. He could almost lose himself in this, almost forget all the years that separated him from the time when this had been the one source of true joy in his life, almost his whole life--

You look almost like you're flying, Nikolas!

Tatjiana's voice rang out in his mind, clear and delighted, and Nikolas remembered suddenly that he'd done this before, on a different high bar in a different Stormwatch facility down on Earth, years ago--

He lost his grip on the next release move, and slammed face-first into the mats.

***

There were benefits to not needing sleep; it let one keep a closer eye on a friend who needed watching, for one. Fuji didn't really want Nikolas to think that he was following him - that would not go over very well, he suspected - so when he'd seen him heading for the gym, he'd merely gone to watch from above, through the viewing window.

At first he had been concerned, not knowing why Nikolas had chosen this morning of all mornings for such a strenuous workout. It had made sense, once he had started to think about it--a way of taking his mind off Tatjiana, perhaps? The worry had melted into a sort of awed appreciation as he had watched, marveling at Nikolas's grace--and then abruptly hardened into horror as he watched the tiny miscue turn into disaster.

His friend crashed awkwardly to the mats and laid there, not moving. Fuji muttered a curse that his mother most certainly would not have appreciated, and hurried down to check on him.

By the time he had reached him, Nikolas was still not moving, and Fuji bent over him, calling his name urgently "Nikolas? Can you hear me, my friend?" Nikolas didn't move, didn't open his eyes--just laid there, sprawled in that awkward position, like a child's broken doll. Fuji sighed in frustration and straightened, going over to the companel at the door and tapping it with his huge fingers, careful to be gentle. It would not be good to smash it by accident. "Fuji to medical deck. Please send a team to the gym."

He waited long enough to hear the reply, and then went back to Nikolas, hovering over him worriedly. Nikolas seemed to be breathing properly, Fuji saw. Still, it seemed unwise to move him. He was not precisely equipped for first aid. It was very frustrating.

"Nikolas," he said again. "Nikolas, can you hear me?" He sighed again, furious with himself. "If only I had followed you. Perhaps you would not have done this if I had been here. Nikolas? Nigel will be most angry with me; it was my turn to make sure you did not do anything stupid. That was Nigel's word, not mine. Nikolas? Nikolas, wake up, please?"

***

"Nikolas?"

"That," he muttered, cracking an eye open and glaring balefully up at the red-haired blur looming over him, "was not fair, Tatjiana."

She laughed at him and offered him a hand up. "You should have been watching more closely, Nikolas."

"You move like lightning," he said grudgingly, taking the hand. She hauled him to his feet with no visible effort at all, and he shook his head again until his vision cleared, coming back into focus. He was not used to being quite so easily - manhandled? no, that was not the appropriate term - defeated in hand-to-hand combat. "It is difficult to watch someone closely when that someone spends most of her time as a prettily-colored blur at the edge of your vision."

"Was that a compliment?" she asked archly, a flash of amusement in those deep green eyes.

"Something like that."

"Well," Tatjiana said, her mouth twitching suspiciously. "Perhaps I should say something about how that was not as bad as you having landed in such an undignified position made it appear."

"How kind you are to my poor battered ego," he said dryly.

Her eyes were dancing, now. "Your technique is of course flawless--I would have expected no less from someone of your background, of course. You are merely having difficulty compensating for my greater speed and strength."

"A properly directed energy blast would compensate adequately, were we in battle," he pointed out.

"Of course. But we're not."

"You are having far too much fun at my expense," he said gruffly, reaching out and catching her around the waist. She could have eluded him easily, just by stepped back out of reach, but she didn't, and he felt a sudden surge of warmth at her teasing smile.

"And you are far too serious too much of the time, Nikolas," she scoffed, laying a hand against his chest. "It doesn't hurt you to have that unshakeable dignity of yours shaken, once in a while--"

"I? I am too serious?" he said disbelievingly, struggling to hold the smile back. "Tatia, how can you say that with a straight face?"

"Practice, Nikolas," she said irrepressibly, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as he pulled her closer. "Shall we try it again? Or have you had enough for the day?"

"Enough of you? Never," he said with a chuckle. "Save of course when you take such perverse pleasure in battering what little pride I still have into an unrecognizable thing--"

"So long as everything else is working properly," Tatjiana whispered wickedly, and gave a throaty laugh. "Ah, Nikolas, what am I to do with you--"

***

"--don't know WHAT to do with you, you bloody mule-headed Russian," Nigel's voice said from somewhere above him. He was being remarkably polite, Nikolas thought hazily, considering the level of frustration in his voice. "What the hell were you doing, trying to kill yourself?"

"Hellstrike," a different voice, vaguely familiar, said sternly, "if you don't stop berating the patient, I'm going to have you ejected from the medical deck."

Nikolas opened his eyes, and instantly wished he hadn't, flinching away with a muttered curse as a bright light shone right into one eye. "Sorry about that, Winter," the slightly familiar voice apologized, and the light was removed. Nikolas blinked rapidly, until the face of one of the Skywatch doctors came into focus. "I was just checking your pupils. You managed to give yourself a mild concussion, from the look of it--you're lucky that's all it is. I believe I"ll order a scan or two just in case. Your physiology is irregular enough that I don't want to take any chances."

Concussion? His head hurt--but hadn't he had a headache already? Before--well, before. The gym, he remembered. He'd been in the gym. "I am fine," Nikolas muttered, trying to sit up. The room tilted crazily around him and he sank backwards with another low curse.

Now he remembered. He'd been on the high bar, and slipped. Foolish of him, to have been working without a spotter, he supposed--

"You bloody idiot," Nigel growled, looming over him. "Toshiro told me what happened. What a bloody idiotic thing to do--"

"You're repeating yourself, Nigel," Nikolas muttered, closing his eyes for a moment. His head felt very slightly better, that way.

"Is that so? Well, you should have done me the courtesy of waking up five minutes ago, you daft bugger. I was being a LOT more creative then."

"I'm sorry I missed it." His throat felt something like sandpaper. He would have asked for a glass of water, but that would have meant cutting Nigel off in mid-rant, and he wouldn't want to do THAT.

Nigel swore for nearly a half-minute before he finally got control of himself again. "Look at me," he said in an almost moderate tone, and Nikolas opened his eyes warily, only to narrow slits. The light still hurt. "I don't know what you were thinking, but it was a bloody stupid thing to do."

"Stupid? A little overambitious, perhaps--"

"Do you really think you're fooling me, Nikolas Kamarov?" There was real anger in Nigel's voice, not just the frustration and worry that had been there before. "You pick this morning to up and try something you probably had trouble doing twenty years ago, and you don't think that tells anyone with half a bloody brain that there's something wrong?"

Nikolas pushed himself up on one elbow, ignoring the way his head swam, and glared at Nigel, fighting to keep his expression blank even as rage bubbled up inside him, demanding some sort of relief. "Something wrong?" he demanded hoarsely. "Why would there be anything wrong, Nigel? Tell me, what would give you that impression?" His voice had risen as he spoke, despite his best efforts to keep it level, and he bit off the rest of what he'd been about to say, not trusting himself to go on.

Nigel's expression was unreadable, and Nikolas swore under his breath, swinging his feet around, off the bed, and sitting up. The room spun around him again, but he ignored it. He needed to absorb some energy, that was all--

"Winter!" It was the doctor again, sounding indignant. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving," Nikolas said bluntly. "I thank you for your efforts, Doctor, but I will be well enough."

"You're not going anywhere--"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Nigel said suddenly, his voice sounding a little too light--suspiciously so. "Come on, man, surely you know his medical file. If it'll make you feel better, I promise to take him down to one of the practice rooms and blow him into a wall. He'll be right as rain, soon as that crazed metabolism of his has a little energy to work with."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, glaring balefully at both of them. "If you have any doubled vision, spells of dizziness, or if the headache persists for more than twenty-four hours, I expect to see you back here promptly," he said to Nikolas, almost threateningly.

"Understood," Nikolas muttered and slid off the bed, concentrating on standing up straight. The doctor watched him suspiciously, and he forced himself to give the man a tight, humorless smile as he walked - carefully - from the room, Nigel following him closely.

The doors slid shut behind them as they walked out into the hallway, and his balance chose that moment to desert him. Reeling a little, he threw out a hand against the wall for support, and told himself not to pull away as Nigel took his arm. Sacrificing what little equilibrium he still possessed for the sake of pride was more foolish than not.

"You sure you're all right?" Nigel asked. There was no anger in his voice now, and Nikolas wondered rather dismally what had provoked that change in his friend's mood. "You still look a wee bit rocky--"

"I--" For some reason, he was suddenly loathe to brush off the question as he might have a few minutes earlier. "I will be," he said roughly, pushing himself away from the wall again. "I will be." He wondered who he was trying to convince, himself or Nigel.

"This isn't what I expected you to be doing with all this, you know," Nigel said, not letting go of his arm as they started back down the corridor. His words were conversational, almost deliberately diffident.

"Have I disappointed you?" He meant to say it facetiously, but it came out more angrily than he had intended.

"Bloody hell, Nikolas, you know that's not what I meant," Nigel said wearily. "I expected you to be sneaking into a transfer bay or something. All of us did."

"The Weatherman made himself very clear," Nikolas pointed out expressionlessly.

"And?" Nigel stopped, still not letting go of his arm and thus forcing Nikolas to come to a stop as well. "Why is that stopping you, all of a sudden? It never did before, Nick."

"I--" He couldn't explain. Not to Nigel, not to any of them. None of them knew what had happened between him and Tatjiana the last time, not unless she'd told Maya that day, and they wouldn't understand. They would tell him it had had nothing to do with her death - as if they could know! - and scold him for punishing himself 'needlessly'. He could not listen to that. It would shatter what was left of his self-control, and he knew it.

"What I wouldn't give to know what's going on inside that head of yours right now, old son," Nigel said softly. "Don't suppose you're much in the mood for sharing, though."

Nikolas swallowed. "I have not decided what to do, yet," he said awkwardly. It was the truth, as far as it went. "It is--difficult, to think logically about this." He tried to ignore the slight break in his voice, pretend it hadn't happened. "It is so much clearer, Nigel, when it is a threat I can see--like Yevgraf was. Something that I choose to do something about, simply because the choice is there and not to make it would mean that others suffered--or died." He forced himself to meet his friend's eyes. "I cannot see clearly about this," he continued hoarsely. "All I can see--is her."

Something close to pain crossed Nigel's face. "I know what it feels like," he murmured. "When Anne died--" He looked away for a moment, and then back, his expression turning curiously resolute. "It's up to you, Nick," he said. "I'm not going to push you into doing anything, but I'm sure as bloody hell not going to stand here and watch you tear yourself to pieces over this." He gave an oddly twisted smile. "There are better people to be doing that to, wouldn't you say?"

Nikolas leaned back against the wall, taking a deep, shaky breath. "You don't know, Nigel," he said, unable to help the faint, wild edge in his voice. "You don't know what I--" The words caught in his throat again, and he swallowed convulsively.

"Oh, I can see there's something you're not telling me," Nigel said, his voice turning bleak. "I can see that clear as day, Nikolas."

Nikolas rubbed at his eyes, desperately wishing his vision would clear. If he could see clearly, if his head would stop throbbing and Skywatch would stop tilting slightly around him at inconvenient moments, maybe he could at least begin to think, again. About other things, if not about her--never about her--

"Something that happened after that last mission to Yugoslavia," Nigel continued. "Am I right? While she was trying to get you out of the country--"

"I do not want to talk about it," Nikolas rasped, straightening and fighting back the anguish Nigel's words had rekindled inside him. He would not feel this--he would NOT. "What happened is not--" Not important? The argument--what had happened afterwards, later that night? When they'd taken shelter from the snow, and--

His vision was blurring once more, and this time, he knew it had nothing to do with the blow to the head. Nigel was still standing there, watching him.

"Not what?" he said, quietly.

Nikolas closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Then another, for good measure.

It wasn't working.

He shouldn't be surprised. He had always been able to trust his defenses, shut off his emotions, save when she was involved.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to see Nigel, still watching him. "Denial would be so much preferable," Nikolas said with a humorless ghost of a laugh. "You would think I could manage that, wouldn't you? Not knowing what happened, who has done this, I should be able to hold to some faint, irrational hope that it is all a mistake--"

"But you've never been much for denial, I know," Nigel said with a faint touch of humor in his voice. "So what's left, Nick?"

"I do not know." Why couldn't Nigel simply leave him alone? He did not wish to examine what he was feeling, let alone choose what emotion to act upon. "I do not know, Nigel, have I not said that already? Why must you persist with this?" Nikolas snapped restlessly, pulling away from him and starting back down the hall again.

"Nikolas--"

"No! I am through talking about this, Nigel--"

"So you're just what, going to go lock yourself in your bloody quarters and stew about it?"

"If I do, that is none of your business!"

"Well, pardon the bloody hell out of me for trying to help--"

***

Victoria sat up bolt upright, nearly spilling her coffee as the elevator doors opened and Nikolas and Nigel stalked into the lounge, their argument instantly drowning out CNN's morning news. Beside her, Lauren dropped the TV remote, sliding off the couch and to her feet. Reacting instinctively, from the look of it.

The two men didn't seem to notice they weren't alone in the room."Hasn't it occurred to you just how bloody selfish you're being?" Nigel growled at Nikolas. "Or have you got your head stuck too far up your ass for that?"

"I beg your pardon?" Nikolas hissed, paling and whirling to face him, swaying on his feet. Victoria did get up, then, frowning worriedly. What had happened? Nikolas looked like he was having trouble staying upright--if Nigel's gotten him drunk again this early in the morning, I'm going to kill him, she thought with a sudden fierce protectiveness.

"You heard me, Nikolas!" Nigel snapped, not backing off an inch. "Easier to find an excuse to blame yourself for this, isn't it? That way you can just keep wallowing in the guilt and not have to face the rest of it--"

"Nigel, stop it!" Lauren said sharply.

"What would you prefer, Nigel?" Nikolas demanded, his eyes glowing fiercely. "If I got drunk every day for the next month, would that make you happier?"

"No! Bloody hell, I don't want you pulling any of this self-destructive crap! Although getting drunk'd be a lot safer than trying to kill yourself in the bloody gym--"

Victoria blinked. "What's going on?" she asked worriedly.

Neither of them paid any attention to her. "So you intend to follow me around until you're certain I can be trusted not to do something foolish?" Nikolas spat, an ugly edge to his words. "Thank you very much, Nigel, I never realized you thought I had so little common sense--"

"I thought you had SOME!" Nigel said scornfully. Nikolas swore in Russian and turned away, starting in the direction of his quarters. "Oh, sure, just go and bloody walk away!" Nigel called after him almost derisively. "You're only proving me right, you stupid bastard--"

Nikolas whirled on him again. "Oh, REALLY?" he snarled, eyes glowing almost incandescent and energy crackling around his fists. Nigel took a step back, falling into a defensive position.

"Knock it off, both of you!" Lauren blazed, getting between them. Victoria stepped up beside her, ready to intervene. "I don't know what started this--"

"Nick here tried to revisit his youth," Nigel said caustically. "He's bloody lucky he's got a thick skull, that's all I've got to say--"

"I don't think you quite appreciate how little I want to hear what you have to say!" Nikolas grated.

"Fine!" Nigel threw his hands up. "You two deal with him if you want. He's so deep in bloody wank-mode I can't be bothered--"

Nikolas swore again. "Leave me alone," he said bitterly, turning away. "All of you."

Victoria watched him walk unsteadily to the door of his quarters and vanish inside. "What the hell happened?" she demanded of Nigel as soon as Nikolas's door had slid shut.

Nigel, rather than looking angry, now looked disgusted with himself, and rather repentant. "He fell in the gym," he sighed, shaking his head. "Toshiro was watching him, said he was working on the high bar--bloody hell, I couldn't have handled that much worse now, could I?"

"Is he all right?" Lauren asked quickly.

"Doc said he had a concussion," Nigel muttered. "He wanted to do a couple of tests, but Nick was so bloody eager to get out of there--" Nigel winced as Victoria gave him a sharp look. "He usually heals on his own, lass--"

"Not good enough," Victoria said darkly, and left Lauren to deal with Nigel. She went over to Nikolas's door and hesitated for a moment before she touched the intercom panel lightly. "Nikolas," she said firmly. "Can I come in?" There was no answer. She gritted her teeth. "Nikolas, I'm coming in," she announced, hoping he didn't get too angry about this, and touched the door release, lower on the panel.

He hadn't locked the door behind him, at least; it slid open and she stepped in, frowning at the lack of lights. "Nikolas?" she called softly, staying still for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark.

The muffled sounds of someone being sick reached her ears, and she moved across the room to the closed bathroom door in a few swift strides. "Nikolas?" she called out softly, worriedly. "Nikolas, are you all right?"

Sudden silence was the only answer to her question.

"Nikolas?" she called more loudly, then jumped at the sound of running water.

A moment later, the door slid aside, and Nikolas emerged, bracing himself against the doorframe with one hand. "I said I wanted to be alone, Victoria," he rasped.

"I don't really care what you said," she retorted with a scowl, reaching out to support him as he took a staggering step forward. "Nausea with a concussion is not a good sign, Nikolas."

He gave a grating, somehow unsettling laugh. "It will go away," he said weakly as she helped him over to the couch. "It always does--"

"Right," she said skeptically. "You absorb energy, you get better. Is that why you were about to start a fight with Nigel back there? Trying to get him to blast you a few times so you could get rid of the concussion?"

"No," Nikolas said, rubbing at his neck with a wince. "I was trying to start a fight with Nigel because he was being loud."

"Loud?" Victoria asked, eyebrows making a respectable attempt at hitting her hairline.

"Loud," Nikolas muttered. "Loud people aggravate me. Especially when I have a headache as impressive as this one."

Victoria studied him in troubled silence for a moment, by the scant starlight that the window allowed into the room. "What happened in the gym? Nigel made it sound like you were trying to hurt yourself," she said softly.

"Nigel is overly opinionated," Nikolas retorted flatly.

"Well, we all know THAT." Victoria paused, biting her lip. "Was he right?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course not." Nikolas stared into the dimness. The room was cool, but his voice was cold, almost lifeless. "I was trying my old Olympic routine on the high bar. Practicing. It was an accident, Victoria. I hardly intended--" He cut off, swallowing convulsively, and got shakily to his feet. "Excuse me," he whispered hoarsely, and vanished into the bathroom again.

Victoria rose, swearing softly, and followed him.

"I think you need to go back down to the medical deck," she said, a few minutes later, as she helped him back out into the main room of his quarters.

Nikolas started to shake his head and then stopped, as if he'd thought better of the motion. "I am fine, Victoria."

"Nikolas, you leaned over to turn the water on and nearly fell face-first into the sink," she pointed out.

"I did not," he protested weakly.

"Yes, you did."

Nikolas sighed and tried to straighten, rubbing at his eyes with a hand that trembled noticeably. "If you are going to argue with me, I would really prefer that you leave, Victoria."

"We don't always get what we want, Nikolas," she said firmly, and was taken aback by his hollow smile.

"No. That we do not."

She bit her lip. Damn it, it was too hard to be stern with him when he was this despondent. She didn't like kicking people when they were down, even if it was just a figurative kick in the ass for their own good. "If you're not going to be sensible about this and go back down to the medical deck, you're at least going to lie down," she temporized.

"My very thought," he said tiredly as she helped him over to the bed and eased him down. He stretched out with a heavy sigh, staring up emptily at the ceiling as she sat on the edge of the bed, beside him.

His next words surprised her. "Nigel believes I am being self-indulgent about this."

"Did he say that?" she asked softly.

"More or less." Nikolas blinked up at the ceiling, his expression dull, strangely distant. "He is probably right."

"He's worried about you," Victoria murmured. "We all are."

Nikolas turned his face towards the opposite wall of the room, as if he'd seen something particularly fascinating in the shadows. "Nigel--all of you need not worry. I do not intend to do anything--stupid." His chest rose and fell in what might have been a laugh, if there'd been any real humor behind it. "Foolish, perhaps. But not stupid--and not today."

"Nikolas," Victoria started, but paused, getting the definite sense he wasn't hearing her. Bending over him, she sighed as she saw that his eyes were closed. "You probably didn't sleep at all last night," she murmured. The tiny crease between his eyebrows deepened, for a moment, and then vanished as his whole body visibly relaxed. "Which means that you're probably going to be pissed when I wake you up every two hours to make sure you haven't gone and slipped into a coma on us."

His breathing grew deep and regular as she watched. She finally rose, with a sigh, and wandered over to sit down on the couch. Skywatch was moving into direct sunlight again, and as it did, she saw something, a piece of paper, it looked like, lying on the deep 'ledge' of the window. She picked it up, and realized with a shock that it was a picture.

Written on the back, in a delicate hand that Victoria recognized as Christine's, was 'Maya and Karl's wedding' and the date. Victoria turned it over, and stared in a mixture of sadness and wistfulness at the picture of Nikolas dancing with a red-haired woman who had to be Tatjiana.

She'd been very beautiful. Nigel had said that, last night. "So what would you have done to help him right now?" Victoria murmured to the woman in the picture, unable to help a faintly bitter smile. "But I suppose if you were here, we wouldn't have the problem, would we?"

Sunlight spilled into the room, and Victoria looked up sharply as Nikolas shifted in his sleep, muttering something in Russian. The only word she recognized was the last, the name he repeated again in an anguished, almost pleading voice.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she set the picture back down, very carefully.

***

Arms slid around him from behind, hugging him tightly. "What are you thinking so hard about?" Tatjiana asked softly as they stared out at the ocean.

Nikolas tried to smile. "Nothing important," he said as she stepped up beside him. He put an arm around her shoulders. "It is beautiful here."

"One of the benefits of our transfer bays," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "They're as useful when you're off-duty as when you're on."

The moon was rising over the water, wisps of clouds drifting across it like gossamer. The salt breeze was cool, a counterpoint to air far warmer than anything he was used to. The sand beneath their feet was bleached bone-white in the moonlight. It almost seemed to gleam.

"This was a very good idea, Tatia," he said softly. He didn't know precisely where they were - she'd insisted that it was a surprise - but that didn't bother him. He'd dreamed of places like this, as a boy in Siberia. "Thank you."

Tatjiana shrugged slightly. "I decided we could both do with a break," she said, her voice edged with amusement. "This recent mission Maya and I carried out was wearisome, if not particularly challenging. As for you," she continued, chuckling softly, "I am assuming you prefer to be out of Flashpoint's way until he manages to swallow his hurt pride." He gave her a faintly wary sideways look, and she smiled broadly. "What, you thought I wouldn't hear, Nikolas?"

"Flashpoint is nekulturny," he grumbled. "You should have heard what he--" He cut himself off, reminding himself that what Flashpoint had said in the midst of their training session, supposedly to get him 'riled', as the senior officer had put it, had not been quite repeatable--at least not to the subject of his comments. "He is fortunate I limited myself to merely beating him soundly."

"Foster was only trying to make you angry, so you would not be careful," Tatjiana pointed out, that ripple of laughter still lacing through her words. "I imagine he did not take the time to familiarize himself with your file, and did not realize you were not precisely on the same level as the rest of the trainees in terms of hand-to-hand combat. Short-sighted of him, yes."

"He is arrogant," Nikolas said with a sigh, "and does not know how to control his temper." He looked down at her, trying to keep the scowl from forming on his features. "I worry when you go into the field with him. He is not trustworthy."

Tatjiana made a dismissive gesture. "Flashpoint is--Flashpoint," she said, almost helplessly. "He is effective, in his way. All of us have our flaws as field officers, Nikolas. I myself dislike field command, for instance." She leaned her head against his shoulder again, with a sigh. "I suspect from what I have heard and seen that you feel the same."

"For a different reason, perhaps," he said quietly.

"Why?" The question was soft, with a certain patience in it that made him think she would wait all night for the answer, if needed.

"It is--hard to explain, Tatjiana. It is of no matter, in any case. There are other members of my team who would not turn away from the opportunity if it was given to them."

She looked up at him, a little sharply. "I am not interested in them, Nikolas," she said, her voice still low. "I am asking about you."

He should have known it would be a mistake to brush her off so. She deserved an honest answer, in any case. "Perhaps I do not trust myself," he said, the words coming out more stiffly than he intended. She pulled away from him, straightening, her level green gaze fixed on his face, expectantly. "It is not that I doubt my tactical thinking--"

"You certainly should not," she put in with a faint smile. "I've seen your simulator results. You score far higher than anyone in your group."

"Really?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, and he flushed as her smile grew slowly.

"Really. But continue," she said, her expression turning somber again. "I expected you to say something like I might have, that I preferred to be able to focus on the mission, rather than attempting to keep all of these conflicting personalities from clashing along the way. That you don't trust yourself is far more disturbing."

"Is it?" He looked over her shoulder, at the moonlit water, and felt, despite the quiet beauty of their surroundings, a familiar heaviness and chill settling on him. "Or am I merely being realistic, Tatia? My years in Spetznatz could be certainly be seen as a protracted example of poor judgement--"

"You hardly had a choice, Nikolas," Tatjiana said with a frown, turning away abruptly, towards the water. "You did not willingly enter Spetznatz. I do wish you would stop letting those years--eat away at you as they do. That part of your life is over."

She didn't understand, and he couldn't bring himself to explain. He feared he would lose her, if he did, if she knew the whole truth of what he had been--what he still was. "It is over," he said softly, instead. "I have a chance to do good in the world now, and I intend to take it. But that is the only reason I am here, Tatjiana. To--atone. A leader must be an example, and I am no example."

Tatjiana turned back to him, her eyes suspiciously bright in the moonlight. "You are a good man, Nikolas," she said, insistently.

"I could only wish," he muttered. "Tatjiana--"

"No," she said hoarsely. "Lazar's bones, Nikolas, I almost wish you had lost your temper with Flashpoint today! I see this too much in you, this belief that you can not permit yourself to become angry. You internalize everything that hurts you, as if you believe you don't deserve to feel." His jaw clenched involuntarily, before he could stop himself from reacting, but he managed not to respond. She continued, almost ruthlessly. "What does it take to make you angry, Nikolas? You, Nikolas Kamarov, not Winter of Stormwatch or the ex-soldier devoted to the welfare of his homeland--"

"Why is allowing oneself to become angry a virtue, Tatjiana?" Nikolas retorted, shifting restlessly. He would not allow himself to pace, though. That would be too much like backing off for his pride's comfort. "It is energy better directed to doing my duty."

"You aren't a machine, Nikolas!" she snarled softly, her eyes blazing. "I love you dearly, you infuriating Russian, but what will it take to make you see what you're doing to yourself? Wake--"

***

"--up, Nikolas." The voice was quiet but firm. Nikolas tried to ignore it, but it went on, an edge to the words. "Nikolas, either you wake up now or you're going to wake up on the medical deck later. Do you think I'm joking?"

He didn't particularly want to wake up - his head was still aching relentlessly - but that was Jackson's 'don't test me' voice, and Nikolas wanted to return to the medical deck even less. "No," he rasped weakly, opening his eyes just a crack until he was sure there was no light shining down at him this time, "you definitely sound like you've misplaced your sense of humor somewhere--"

The room was still dim, save for a square of slowly vanishing sunlight on the floor and the faint blue glow surrounding Jackson, where he sat in a chair pulled up beside the bed. Nikolas stared up at him for a long moment as he tried to gather the concentration - or the courage, he wasn't sure which would be necessary - to sit up. "You are--leaking," he said slowly. He could feel his absorption ability at work, drinking in the telekinetic energy Jackson was projecting.

"You noticed," Jackson said, the harshness gone from his tone. "I've been sitting here doing it for the last fifteen minutes. Doing any good, yet?"

Victoria had been here, hadn't she? Nikolas let his eyes roam around the room, rather than moving. Jackson cleared his throat. "I'm spelling her off, you might say," he said quietly. "She's been hovering over you for the last three hours or so. She says she woke you up twice, actually--"

"I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised. She said you weren't particularly alert. Kept muttering at her in Russian." Nikolas blinked, trying to remember and failing. He remembered talking to Victoria, but not the rest.

"I--am fine," he said finally, lamely, and gave the lie to his own words a moment later as he started to turn his head and winced at the pain in his neck. "More or less."

The glow around Jackson brightened a little and he leaned forward, expression set in worried lines. Nikolas could feel his body soaking up the energy, but it wasn't having any discernible effect on how he felt. This was ridiculous, he thought, half-angrily. He had healed completely, in minutes, from being impaled through the shoulders with control rods from Chernobyl's reactor. The concussion should have been gone a minute after Jackson started projecting energy at him.

"Nikolas, if this isn't helping, I want you back down on the medical deck," Jackson said after a few minutes.

Nikolas swallowed and sat up, ignoring the dizziness that hit as soon as he moved. Nausea followed in swift succession and he fought it back. It wasn't as bad as it had been before, he told himself firmly. "It is energy," he said, managing a tight smile that had to be unconvincing, to judge by Jackson's sudden scowl. "I have healed from worse, with less."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Jackson said, but the glow around him died. "I'll take you at your word, but if I hear about you passing out or something, I'm going to kick your ass."

Nikolas opened his mouth and then closed it again, stifling the sudden flare of irritation.

What does it take to make you angry, Nikolas? Tatjiana's voice rang in his mind.

His friends treating him like a child, apparently. But the irritation wouldn't be banished entirely, and it lingered, touching off something deeper and darker and hotter than that faint, resentful burn.

"I'm sure you have much better things to do than hovering over me, Jackson," he said, swinging his feet over to the floor and standing up. It took a great deal of effort to do it without betraying the redoubled dizziness, but he managed. "Shouldn't you be getting back to them?"

They were treating him like a child, he thought. What precisely did they want from him? He had never been the type to share his feelings--surely they didn't expect that.

So what, then? Did they want him to play the vigiliante, pull one of his 'cowboy stunts', as Jackson had put it? Seething inwardly, he raked a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. The dream had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

"Probably," Jackson said a little caustically. But his gaze was still intent, clearly measuring, and Nikolas straightened, meeting it as levelly as he could. "I should be done in a few hours, though," Jackson continued, his tone very different, suddenly. "You and I need to talk, I think. Over a drink, maybe--as long as you've healed the concussion by then."

Nikolas considered for a moment. "I will have," he murmured. "Do you remember that bar in Kazakhstan?" The suggestion came out before he could stop it, surprising him.

"The Last Shot?" Jackson said, raising an eyebrow. "Hard to forget. I was thinking more along the lines of up here on Skywatch, actually--"

Oh, of course. Nikolas smiled faintly. It didn't take much effort to do so, this time, but from Jackson's expression it was as much lacking in reassuring qualities as the last one, if for a different reason.

"I believe I could use some fresh air," he said. Fresh air, to clear his head. Yes.

"I see," Jackson said, each word dripping skepticism. "Fresh air." It was all too clear what he thought Nikolas's motivations were.

Perhaps, Nikolas thought with a combination of perverse ill humor and acknowledgement of the helpless anger the memory of the dream was provoking, he should give Jackson what he expected.

What does it take to make you angry, Nikolas?

Maybe it only took admitting it, in the end.

"Well," Nikolas said amiably, "I am not confined to Skywatch for any reason, am I?"

Jackson's eyes narrowed alarmingly. "No," he said, almost grudgingly. "All right. We'll go. To the bar." And nowhere else but the bar, his glare unmistakably added.

"Of course," Nikolas said. Jackson gave him one more hard look, muttered something, and left the room. Nikolas took a deep breath as the door slid shut behind him, and went over to the couch, sitting down before his knees decided they were going to hold him anymore.

The picture was still there. He picked it up, staring down at it in silence.

What are you thinking so hard about?

"You, Tatjiana," he murmured. "You."

Maybe there was something safe to feel, after all.

to be continued...

alicia's stories | Miscellaneous archive | comicfic.net